


Shades of Grey

by squeezedoutofmiracles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, GamTav - Freeform, Lifespan Angst, M/M, PB&J, hemospectrum angst, mentions of nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezedoutofmiracles/pseuds/squeezedoutofmiracles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee hates the hemospectrum</p>
<p>Not only for losing Tavros his legs but for capping his lifespan at 60 sweeps.</p>
<p>What is he meant to do for the 400,000 he'll have left when Tavros isn't around?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adiostoreadork413](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=adiostoreadork413).



> The hemospectrum is a disgusting thing
> 
> invented by highbloods to benefit the highbloods
> 
>  
> 
> but this highblood doesn't like it
> 
> at all
> 
> \--
> 
> dedicated to my fantastic and loyal friend, Ed. You're fantastic, love, keep smiling

You hold him close, your nose still buried in his hair as he breathes deeply in your arms.

This moment, you decide, is what life was designed for.

You feel like everyone should have someone that slots perfectly under their chin so their face can rest against their chest as you feel their warmer-than-yours breath tickling across your skin. The thought of matesprits and everyone having one true love out there coaxes your lips into a sweet smile.

Its days like this when the minstrels are kind and the moons are glistening that you understand the concept of their design. Why you're all here, and why you bother with life and other motherfuckers who can be downright unfunny sometimes. Simple moments like this. You just gotta keep living for the next one.

You stroke a hand through his hair, his hair which is thicker and fluffier than yours. He insists yours is fluffy too, and it’s nice of him to say so, but you're pretty sure it’s wiry as fuck. That’s why it twists and curves so much; like a sculpture which knows how it wants to be designed and no matter how much you wash it, it just don't wanna lie flat. Not that that’s a bad thing, of course, you hair can do its own thing an' you got no right to tell it otherwise. Tav likes it either way.

He shifts in your arms and you smile, shushing him gently and running your hand down his arm over skin which feels like it's been warmed by sitting near a fire for a good long hour of cuddles. Tangled fingers bring you even closer together and your eyes close again, cooling skin pressed against his flushed alternative.

Even warmer than usual. You love how toasty he is; especially when you know you're the cause. The reason his blood has pushed right up against his skin to try and cool him down. You remember how he was crying out for you just a few minutes ago, how his eyes were shut and his head thrown back in ecstasy as he begged you for anything you could give him and you more than happily obliged, holding his shaking body under your own and making him scream even louder.

Minstrels... that was the best gift of all. How you could share moments like that.

But now, holding him as he fell asleep still fuzzy with the post-sex afterglow. That was pretty good too.

You bring his hand up to your mouth and press your lips gently to the back of it, closing your eyes to rest the back of the heated hand to your cheek and let it rest there. He smells like warmth and safety and just a slight hint of sweat, not that you mind it. It’s salty in a way that doesn't remind you of the sea, but reminds you of the stuff he cooks you as he insists that pies aren't enough to sustain a troll of your size. The delicious things he whips up with what he can salvage from your land are the truest kind of miracle you ever laid eyes on and they taste like devotion. You almost cried the first time he made baked potatoes. You actually cried when he showed you that they could be chopped up into little starch sticks and fried. That shit was worth weeping over, after living on whatever animals you could pin down and tear apart for seven sweeps.

And pies. Oh, Messiahs, the pies.

They were gone. Or, rather, going. You were still trying to teach yourself that the sopor tang was unnatural. That you weren't meant to feel that fuzzy all the goddamn time. You had been missing things, forgetting things. And you didn't want them to steal away a single moment of any of this time that you shared. It was just as well you were having trouble sleeping; sleep just took more time away from the moments that were counting down for you two.

You open your eyes and the first thing that hits you is the colour difference between your hands. Yes, his were grey and yours were grey also. But different shades of grey.

His hand looks like it has nature blossoming in its palm, the brown of fresh bark and rich earth and so many different shades found in his eyes, whilst yours can only be compared to the purple that stained the outside of the subjugglators headquarters. There was no natural shit on this planet that colour apart from that which the highbloods left behind.

He assured you that it was the colour of storm clouds and a perfect night sky, but you always saw that of more of a... It was fiercer, that purple. That purple looked as if it could bite your bulge off and throw it into the sea. Yours was the colour of injury and embarrassment, and a lusus who never came home.

But he loved it all the same.

To him it was the colour of protection and security, the colour of blush that came up when he surprised you with some flowers he'd seen out walking or the colour of bruise that came up under his lips in more private moments. He loved that shade with every ounce of love he had.

They could barely have been more different, though.

Your shades.

There was almost an entire spectrum between you.

You tried not to think about these things, but they still bugged you. They still ate away at the edges of your thinkpan when you stretched and your knuckles brushed the ceiling whilst his fingertips could barely catch the top of your horns. When you hoisted him up in your arms for a kiss. When he shivered in the temperature you liked the bath at or his hot drinks scalded you.

When you held him against you, with his breath on your chest and your fingers in his hair and the roped muscles under his skin heaving his shoulders with every breath; it worried you. Because sometimes he could take five breaths in the time it took you to draw one, and his heart hammered like he was trying to run away but really it was running him to the end of the line fifteen thousand times faster than you could ever hope to catch up, and his heat was wasting life that needed to be bottled up and savoured and rationed out so he could try and last just a few more years because his lifespan wasn't even a moment for a highblood. It wasn’t even a blink.

You only realise that things have gotten out of hand when you start screaming at him, with both your hands pressing over his chest and you're wide-eyed demented as you try to slow his heart down, try to give him more time.

"G-Gamzee..." Tavros choked out, and you realise that he's woken up.

His hands are on your wrists, pulling and trying to get you to stop leaning all your weight on his ribs or you're going to break him. You're hurting him. Stop. STOP.

But you can't, his heart is speeding up, he's gasping in breaths faster than you can match and he's heaving against you as you snarl down to try and scare the breath back into him, scream at him to "CALM DOWN!"

It breaks in a second when he looks up at you with glossy eyes; panting for breath you won't let him draw with his heart trying to hit you away through his ribs.

You flinch back, hands held against your chest as you stutter breaths and look down at him, still bare and still looking up at you from where he lay on the bed.

There are bruises starting to form in the shape of handprints, his blood pumper swelling them with brown much faster than you would have marked.

"Gamzee, what's wrong?" He whispered with wide eyes as he looked up at you.

You hurt him. Look at him, he's scared. He's terrified. He's scared of you because you hurt him, you brute, you monster, you disgusting waste of...

"I'm so sorry..." You whisper back, your voice a tremble to break the silence which is building up like a wall. "I'm so, so, so sorry..."

His jaw is trembling; he looks you over and tries to work out why he woke up with you pressing his ribs hard enough to crack with your entire body weight desperately crushing on his chest.

"N-no... It's OK, Gamzee, it's all OK... I'm... I'm fine, look at me... I'm OK..." He sits up hesitantly, not knowing how far gone you are. He's seen you like this before. Not many times, but enough to know that moving too quickly earns him scratches. He has them raking his arms and decorating his chest like a lattice, long ladders of desperation you carved into him.

"Come here... It's OK, Gamzee, I promise, whatever it is... It's OK, nothing can get you here..."

He reaches out towards you, hand stopping half way to you to let you close the gap, and before you even give yourself permission you have slipped a hand into his grasp and his palm is warm and soft under your own. He has pulled you in for a hug with your chin on his shoulder and he's whispering in your ear that he loves you and he understands. That he's there for you. That he isn't going anywhere. Asking, would you maybe feel OK with telling him what scared you?

"...was it another sopor dream?" He asked softly, a hand on your back stroking there to coax your troubles out of you, make you relaxed and easy in his arms. Another one of those bright-edged dreams which stung, which had you awake screaming and thrashing and tearing up the covers because you couldn't stand to let the sopor of your recooperacoon stretch over your skin because it would be too easy to open your mouth to let it in, let it in to smooth out the fizzing up frizzy dangers which set your teeth on edge and want to drag relief into you mouthful by hot sticky mouthful.

You shake your head, no. It wasn't a sopor dream.

He nods gently and keeps stroking your back, keeps you close away from the bad thoughts and calms you down as he soothes his oversized toddler of a matesprit.

"I-I love you, Tav... You know that, right?" You ask, almost fearfully. Had you reminded him enough that he didn't doubt it? Even when he woke up with you trying to stop his heart?

"Yeah, I know that." He replied, quietly.

"An’ I always will, right?"

"Right, Gamzee." He whispered back. You can head the smile in his voice as he gives you a slight squeeze and kisses your ear. "And I'm going to love you always too. Forever."

That’s the thing that makes you start to bawl, harsh jerking spasms tear sobs from your throat. You shake your head and cling to him so tightly that you can't ever let him go, that the drones couldn't have him even if they wanted him. He gives a slight 'guh' as you squeeze the noise out of him and he starts to stroke your back again, other hand in your hair.

"B-but... No you... No you WON'T!" You protest, shaking your head and whimpering because it’s just wrong. He can't love you forever.

"Shh... Yes, I will, Gamzee... Gamzee, talk to me, what's..." He sighs and kisses your forehead, pushing your hair back and shushing you again as he tries to tilt your head up to look at him, bribed with kisses and promises that it was all OK, you look. You're still blubbing and whimpering, shoulders heaving as you sob, but you're looking at him.

"What's wrong?" He asks softly, petting your hair flat away from your face and giving you a look. A look that you've seen before, when you stared out the window silently for four hours because Goatdad was late back, or the look when he found you about how you'd been hiding his shirts and fiduspawn cards under the couch before he left so he always had a reason to come back.

"Nothing." You whisper back, not wanting to be selfish and make him feel bad over something he didn't decide.

"Gamzee." His reply is one word, simple, carrying so much meaning it almost crushes you again. It’s a warning and a sympathy and an invitation all in one.

"...you're gonna be up an’ leavin’ a motherfucker soon enough." You murmur back, looking away and trying not to drown in self-pity. This seemed to take him by surprise but he’s shaking his head as soon as it processes and he's misunderstood.

"No, no, Gamzee... I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here. Right here. For as long as you want me to-"

"No."

"What?"

"No you aren't. I want you to stay here with me forever. I want you here, with me, FOREVER. An’ not that cute little kind of forever which means, like, five weeks. I want you here with me ‘til the suns bleed out and the mountains scream and we all... I want you here."

"...Gamzee, what's this about? I'm not leaving you; I'm going to be here with you for as long as-"

"YOU'RE GONNA DIE." You sob back, shaking your head and fisting your hands in his shirt. "Y-you're gonna die... An' you're gonna l-leave me..."

Your words are bubbly and thick with sobs; you can't look up any more. He stays silent for a long time.

All you can hear is his heart hammering away and yours plodding after it as it fights to keep up with his suicidal pace. When he speaks again it’s quiet, comforting, and genuine.

"Do you remember when you asked me to be your matesprit?" He asked with his fingers at the nape of your neck and fiddling with yo

"Tav, now ain't the time for-"

"Gamzee, please. Tell me. Do you remember when you asked me to be your matesprit?"

You think silently for a second before nodding. "Yeah. I remember it."

"Tell me about it."

You think, quietly. You try to remember how you felt. You promised yourself that you would remember every poetic little detail, from how the rocks under your feet scraped against your toes when you curled them there. How the air tasted like salt and your cheeks ached from smiling.

"We... We were sittin' on a rock out front. Our feet were in the sea an' you were grinning at the sea beasts an'... An' I was there admiring the view."

"That’s right." He whispered back, still stroking your hair. "And do you remember what you said?"

"Yeah. I said 'Motherfuck it’s hot out here. But not as hot as you.'."

You both chuckle at that and you can feel his chest working calm and regular under you. "And what did I say?"

"You said 'Uhh... Thank, uhh, you... Uhh, Gamzee...'."

"I think you might be exaggerating, just a little there, Gamzee." He chuckled back, ruffling your hair.

"Nah, motherfucker, that's exactly how you sound."

He giggled and you giggled back, closing your eyes and letting him play with your hair. "Tell it right, Gamzee..." He chuckled, stroking your ear.

"Fine, fine, I'll tell it your way. Then you all got your fine-ass flush on an’ said, 'Well, thanks, Gamzee. You know, you're, uhh, not too bad, yourself.'."

He nodded, allowing the slight pauses you hedged in there. It was pretty close to how he had said it.

"An’ I said to you, 'How have two fine motherfuckers such like ourselves not gotten into red quadrants yet?' An' you said 'It's 'cause no motherfuckers here are, uhh, able to match you, on all your various, qualities.' An' I said..." You smile to yourself, chuckling a little at the memory which led to so much. "I said, 'Well... I can think of one motherfucker...'. An' you went all quiet and looked over at me. And you said, 'And I... I can think of one person I'd, uh... Be interested in...' And went reeeeal motherfuckin quiet. And I went quiet."

"And then you said, 'Is it me?'." He supplied, and you had to chuckle.

"And you said, 'Yeah. It's you.'. And I..."

"You kissed me."

"Yeah. I kissed you."

"And then?"

"Then I said, 'So... I might be misreadin' the situation... But might I... Could I ask if you... Maybe...' An then you interrupted me all rude like-"

"I said yes."

"You said yes."

The silence lingered as you smiled into his chest. He broke it with a quiet question. "How long ago do you think that was, Gamzee?"

You think before replying. "Half a sweep?"

"Half a sweep. Do you know how long my caste lives?"

The knot in your stomach and throat comes back and you shrug, making a guess. "Like... forty sweeps?"

"Sixty. That means we've got time to make that memory a hundred more times. We can make more. We can fill those times with so many memories that we have to write them all down. We can leave memories with other people to look after and remind you."

He looks down at you and tilts your head up to look at him. "Sixty sweeps. You’ve got more than fifty sweeps left with me, Gamzee. We aren't even ten. We aren't running out of time, we're... We're running into it. And we have to leave it full of memories, OK? That's the only way to do things."

You sniff and nod, lowering your face to his chest and sniffling. "I... I've got so much... T-time, though... I've got... Thousands of s-sweep..."

He shushes you before you can even finish. That sentence would tear both of you apart. "I know, Gamzee. I know. But I'm here with you. Right now, right here, I'm here with you. We have more than fifty sweeps to go. So let’s not rush it. Let’s do this right."

You look up at him again, trembling under his arms as you sniff and try not to cry. He doesn't need this mess; he doesn't need to be reminded that his caste will leave you cold and alone and still a confused teenager wondering where his matesprit went.

His hands are still on you, finding places to stroke your hair and neck, lips pressing soft reminders to your forehead and cheeks. He's there for you; he will always be there for you. For as long as he can be. Until the messiahs tear him away, and you trust him to fight them for as long as he can. You trust him to tear your faith apart as he's dragged away, because no loving messiahs would ever force you to live in a world without him.

"I love you, Tav." You whisper.

He smiles, fingers still following every curve of your hair as he soothes his fingers from root to tip of each curl and wrap them around his fingers. He leans in and closes his eyes, kissing your forehead softly and pulling you in until not even air can press between your chests. His earthy grey with your own shade cloudy in comparison.

"I love you too, Gamzee. And I always will."


End file.
